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Updated: June 8, 2025
"When the sheets were turned back we found it lying exactly in the middle of the bed." Lydia's heart sank. "Thank you, that will do," she said. "I have found the owner of the cross and have restored it." Should she tell Jean? Her first impulse was to take the girl into her confidence, and reveal the state of her mind. Her second thought was to seek out old Jaggs, but where could he be found?
"I hadn't an opportunity of thanking you the other day, Mr. Jaggs," she said. "I think you saved my life." "That's all right, miss," he said, in his hoarse voice. "Dooty is dooty!" She thought he was looking past her, till she realised that his curious slanting line of vision was part of his infirmity. "I'll show you to your room," she said hastily.
Put the light out, my dear, I don't like light. I like 'em dark, like them little cells in Holloway prison, where you were took two years ago for robbing your missus." Lydia's smile left her face. She heard the girl gasp. "You old liar!" she hissed. "Lucy Jones you call yourself you used to be Mary Welch in them days," chuckled old Jaggs.
So old Jaggs was in Monte Carlo! Whatever was he doing, and how was he getting on with these people who spoke nothing but French, she wondered! She had something to think about before she went to sleep. She opened her eyes singularly awake as the dawn was coming up over the grey sea. She looked at her watch; it was a quarter to six.
"You have no right to sit on a court martial, madam," he said with uncanny politeness, and at that moment the light in the room was switched on and Jaggs appeared in the doorway, his bearded lips parted in an ugly grin, a long-barrelled pistol in his left hand. "Drop your knife," he said, "or I'll drop you." The mad doctor turned his head slowly and frowned at the intruder.
"It seems very inadequate." "I'd rather have a briar, miss," said old Jaggs mistakenly. He was on duty until the morning she left, and although she rose early he had gone. She was disappointed, for she had not given him the handsome case of pipes she had bought, and she wanted to thank him. She felt she had acted rather meanly towards him. She owed her life to him twice.
"No, she's gone for a ride with our chauffeur. But I wanted to see you, Mr. Jaggs, because " she paused. "I realise that you're a dear friend of hers and have her best interests at heart. I don't know who you are," she said, shaking her head, "but I know, of course, that Mr. John Glover has employed you." "What's all this about?" he asked gruffly. "What have you to tell me?"
She stared for a second into his benevolent eyes, and then something hit her violently and she staggered back, and dropped over the edge of the shelf down, straight down into the sea below. Probably Jean Briggerland never gave a more perfect representation of shocked surprise than when old Jaggs announced that he was Jack Glover. "Mr. Glover," she said incredulously.
Morgan had now arrived, to Lydia's infinite relief, and had taken control of the household affairs. The new maid was as perfect as a new maid could be, and but for the nightly intrusion of the taciturn Jaggs, to whom, for some reason, Mrs. Morgan took a liking, the current of her domestic life ran smoothly. She was already becoming accustomed to the possession of wealth.
Morgan hopefully. She had the mother feeling for the old, which is one of the beauties of her class, and she regretted Lydia's absence probably as much because it would entail the disappearance of old Jaggs as for the loss of her mistress. But old Jaggs did not turn up. Lydia hoped to see him at the station, hovering on the outskirts of the crowd in his furtive way, but she was disappointed.
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